


Touch Me With Your Hands Until I'm Yours

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Relationships: Bull Randleman/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Touch Me With Your Hands Until I'm Yours

Bull Randleman x Reader

  


HERE YOU GO, IT’S VERY LONG I GOT A LIL BIT CARRIED AWAY!

 **Warnings** : SMUT SMUT SMUT AND GOOD CHRISTIAN FUN (just kidding, it’s SMUT). A bit of teasing, some sign language, an excessive amount of kisses, a lil hint of power dynamics, probably more but YOU GET THE GIST.

_Title inspired by a lyric from[ I Got Lost by Loney Dea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3boJ5Ty-hw)r_

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“You brought this onto yourself, little lady. Don’t know why you’re lookin' at me like that—”

Clenching your jaw, you turn your glare from him to the ceiling of the hotel, another shiver trembling through your body. You could feel him smiling at that, and you knew that if you looked back at him you’d find him palming his cock at your discomfort.

Fucking bastard.

The 48-hour pass was meant to be a _reprieve_ from the stress of the harsh and cold frontlines of this hellish war, and you’d been _beyond_ excited to finally get to sleep in a warm bed with the giant bear you’d fallen in love with- with clean hair and soft sheets and no interruptions from the group of neanderthals you had come to know as brothers.

Apparently, Bull Randleman had had other plans.

A few days before you’d both been issued your passes, you’d been giving a handful of replacements a refreshment course on the proper hand signals the Company had developed to communicate over distance or when noise discipline was in effect- something you had helped develop with the other logistic coordinators back in Toccoa. You were fluent in Sign Language, having been asked to consult with the Paratroopers before eventually being asked to stay on as an intelligence liaison. Few people used American Sign since the trend of forced oralism began in the early 20s, so the powers that be had been forced to admit you into the higher ranks despite your sex.

Many at Toccoa had gotten over their initial qualms over your gender. Replacements were another matter entirely.

The replacements were little more than boys, and easily distractible boys at that. They didn't listen to a goddamn thing you said, and more often than not their eyes were on your ass than on your hands. And even when they did look at your hands, they broke out into a fit of giggles whenever you did a signal that remotely resembled anything sexual.

So, you’d let them have it.

You’d commanded them to stand at attention, drilling them on the hand signals they’d neglected to pay attention to and demanding fifty pushups for each and every incorrect answer.

Apparently, Bull had thought you were being too hard on them- and rather than waiting until the two of you were alone to voice his concerns, he’d decided to question you in front of the replacements.

You had- well, not taken it very well.

His words hadn't been demeaning or overly harsh, but you had still snapped back at him with more fire than necessary. Between reminding him that he had his _own men to train_ and that he needed to _mind his own goddamn business_ , you’d jabbed a stiff finger into the meat of his pectoral with enough force that you’d left bruises.

At the time, he’d politely acquiesced and retreated. 

You should’ve known he’d make you pay for it later.

Which brought you to now.

Bull, the most gentle and gruffly caring man you had the pleasure of knowing, was currently sitting beside the hotel bed in a chair far too delicate for his giant body and just _watching_ you.

Only moments (or maybe hours?) ago, he’d had you pinned under his strong body, using his hands and mouth and voice to rile you up- getting you naked as the day you were born beneath him before suddenly and abruptly beginning your hands above your head and telling you to grip the bars of the headboard and smirking down at your with a command to _keep them there and don’t move, sugar._

When you’d protested with an incredulous _what are you doing?_ , he’d pulled up his stupid chair and lit up a cigar.

_“Me? Mindin’ my own ‘_ ** _goddamn business’_** _, Miss Y/L/N._ ”

You were _pissed_.

You knew that this was his way of getting back at you, and a small part of you even thought you kind of _deserved_ some kind of retribution, but that didn’t mean you were okay with this.

He’d gotten you so turned on it almost ached, his hands having long ago learned how to play your body like a concerto violinist. Bull wasn’t a cruel lover by any means- but that didn’t mean he didn't like to tease you a little bit every now and again. the heat he’d stoked between your legs now burned untempered and unattended to, all of the pleasure that had been curling in your lower belly moving upward to simmer into a hot anger.

“If you keep glarin’ at the roof like that, you’re gonna burn a hole in it.” 

One of his rough fingertips trails down the bare skin of your tricep, a traitorous shiver following his touch. You say nothing, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your breathing steady.

The chair he is sitting in creaks as he leans forward and brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers. You roll your eyes at that, the sweetness of the touch incinerated in your single-minded fury at being denied.

With a great sigh you hear him stand from his seat and the mattress dips as he sits beside you on the bed, tsking when you keep your gaze focused on the ceiling.

“Seemed just fine getting all mouthy with me earlier, Sugar- what’s with the silent treatment?”

As he murmurs your name in the way he knows you can’t resist, you finally look at him again, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re not being _nice_ , Denver. I don’t like it when you _aren’t nice.”_

He smiles at that, reaching over to the nightstand and putting his cigar onto the ashtray while exhaling a plume of smoke above your heads.

“You weren’t very nice either, if memory serves, darlin’.”

Your eyes flicker to the dark purple dots mottling just below his collarbone and frown slightly at the reminder of the argument.

Following your eyeline, Bull looks down at the bruises. A scoff of a laugh shakes his chest, and he shoots you a wink when he looks back at you.

“Admirin’ your work, Pretty Baby? God knows _I did_ —”

“It’s already hard enough to teach people shit they don’t want to learn, Den.”

Your voice is tight, embarrassment flooding you as you remember the crude looks they’d shot your way. “You coming in and questioning me only makes it worse.”

Bull frowns a little bit, resting his elbow on your far side so he’s hovering above you. His hand slides up the length of your raised arm and gently unwinds your fingers from the headboard’s rail- bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing at your fingertips.

Since the two of you had first met, he’d told you that your hands were magic- and when he’d watched you converse with your mother and siblings during a weekend visit he had held them up to the light and boldly declared them a gift from God.

“I shouldn’ta stepped on your toes, you’re right ‘bout that,” Bull says as he reaches up to free your other hand and gives it the same attention. “Y’know I think the world’a you….guess I just got a lil worried for ya—”

You bring your hands to hold his face and give him a hard look.

“You wouldn’t have done that to Martin. Or Luz.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows you give him a stern look.

“You wouldn’t do it to Percon— _wait,_ actually….”

Bull chuckles at that, pressing a kiss on your furrowed brow.

“Good catch. But I get your point.”

He peppers kisses down your face, catching your lips with his in a kiss that is deeper than you expected.

You bring a hand up to grab a fistful of his hair and pull him back and narrow your eyes at him.

“Say you’re sorry and I might still let you fuck me.”

A lazy smile breaks across his mouth as he looks down lovingly at you, narrowing his own eyes teasingly at your serious expression.

“I’m very, truly, _deeply_ sorry for any offense I caused you, Miss Y/N.”

Bull lithely moves to straddle your hips bringing his hands to your sides and intentionally raising goosebumps across your skin.

“May I be so bold as to _show you_ how sorry I am, Pretty Girl?”

The fire he had smoldered begins to flicker back to life under his warm gaze, and you hum pensively while tilting your head to the side.

“Hm, you’ve got a lot to make up for….you _know_ how much I hate being teased.”

“Well,” he grumbles as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest and uses his hands to pull your knees up and open. “I can’t let you get what you want every single time...might spoil ya.”

You look down your body at him to watch him bring your knees over his wide shoulders, heart beginning to thud in your chest at the sight of him between your legs. 

“I thought you liked it when I got mouthy?”

He looks up at you mischievously as he runs his fingers along the wet heat of your sex, almost petting it before using his thumb on your clit to make your hips jump.

“Oh, _I_ ** _do_**. ‘Cause that means I get to shut you up in my favorite way….”

Using his thumbs to spread the lips of your pussy he licks into you deeply, using his forearms to hold your hips in place as you instinctively tremble at his attentions.

“This time when you fall back and stare at the ceiling, you’re doing it to maintain some semblance of control- trying to focus on something other than how good his mouth feels so you don’t lose your head too soon.

Of course, making you lose your head seems to be his goal, because Bull suckles at you as if he truly has something to apologize for. He is relentless, the sound of him licking and kissing at you wet and filthy and threatening your already tenuous grip on control.

Just as you feel your toes beginning to curl, Bull unseals his mouth from you and pulls back- a near shriek tearing from your throat.

“Oh my God, you’ve _got to be kidding me!_ ”

Your chest is heaving with anger once more as he makes his way back up so his face is above yours, rolling his still clothed cock against your swollen sex.

“ _I fucking hate you._ ”

Bull’s mouth is shiny from your arousal, and when he kisses you he licks into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

“I know, Little Lady. But I’ve been harder than fuckin’ rock for way too long, an’ if I don’t get inside you _righ’ now_ I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

You groan in both frustration and arousal, your hands instantly clawing at his boxers and tearing them down his hips with little regard for how your nails rake against his skin.

“I swear to _God_ Denver Randleman that if you don’t shut up and fuck me I’ll never talk to you again. I’ll make your life a living hell and I’ll never let you touch me again— _shit!”_

He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, moaning against your lips as you feel your face scrunch up at the sudden feeling of being so blissfully _full_.

“Jesus, _Bull—”_

_“Does that feel good, Baby?”_

His voice is tight and husky, a hand smoothing your hair off of your face and gripping it lightly so he can tilt your head to the side and get his lips to your ear. 

You can’t answer him, throat tight with overwhelming arousal as he skillfully thrusts into you so perfectly you have a hard time catching your breath.

“Fuck, _fuck!_ Christ, Den- don’t stop!”

You can feel him smile against your ear, his hot and heavy breaths only adding to the carnal symphony of sounds filling the room. “Fuck me, _yes—_!”

“Oh sugar,” he croons, his calloused fingertips finding your clit once more and rubbing at it without mercy. “This ain’t fuckin’. When the two’a us do _this_? **_this_** is makin’ love.”

Tightening your thighs around his hips you roll your lower half in time with his powerful thrusts, tho motion only serving to pull him deeper and squeeze him tighter inside of you.

“I love you, you fuckin’ _sap_ ,” your voice is unfamiliar to your own ears, blood boiling dangerously beneath your skin. “ _I love you, I love you, I love you—!”_

When he bites your neck you absolutely explode, back arching and nails digging into whatever flesh you can find and your breath being ripped from your lungs with such viciousness it almost _hurts_.

Before you even begin to come down from your high, Bull grips your hips and pistons into you with a snarl. You know he’s looking down at you, his eyes taking in your rippling flesh and bouncing breasts and the sheen of your skin with euphoric greed that used to make you blush.

He comes with a broken howl, bending his head to rest on between your breasts as he chokes out his release, his hands squeezing at you with more force than he would normally allow himself to display when it came to you.

You didn’t mind- it helped your soul find its way back to your body after free-floating for so long.

As he catches his breath you gently trail your fingers up and down his nail-scored back, your hips still jumping with aftershocks that seem to milk his release further.

There is an uncontrollable tremble in your lips from the adrenaline rush, and you can’t help but laugh lightly when Bull slumps atop you with exhaustion.

You can feel his lips moving, mouth forming declarations of love as he caught his breath.

The hand that had been between your legs reaches behind his back to take yours, bending his middle and ring finger against your palm and smiling against your skin when you return the sign.

_I love you._

It’s one of the first signs he asked you about, after seeing you hold it up in your mother’s direction after she waved goodbye to you from the train. It was the handshape he pressed against your back after finding you after Normandy. 

Eventually you weave your fingers with his, he whispers the sentiment into your ear.

You turn your head to kiss his cheek.

 _“I can’t believe you’re mine,_ ” you whisper softly.

“Hmm, don’t know that sign….”

You smile and sigh deeply. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Little Lady.”

You hoped he would.

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HISTORICAL NOTE: hello my babies! So, in the history of american sign language, there was a period of time when signing was considered a show of deficit and deaf children were forced to learn how to speak and read lips. 

Signing was an ‘undesirable’ skill and many kids were beaten whenever they were caught trying to communicate with it, resulting in generations of deaf/hard of hearing people experiencing shame and unnecessary trauma (Alexander Graham Bell was a big proponent of it, and the idea was to allow Deaf/hard of hearing people to be able to pass for ~normal~). 

It’s very sad and when it was abolished it sort of created a rift in the community- with some rebelling against those who forced oralism and others ostracizing anyone who refused to learn how to speak/read lips.

These rifts still exist today, now including some prejudice against those in the d/hoh community who decide to get cochlear implants rather than remain deaf. 

if y’all want to know more, let me know!


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